


Date someone who will...

by colazitron



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snapshots chronicling Troye and Connor's relationship between New Year's 2014 and May 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date someone who will...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smallbump](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbump/gifts).



> Loosely based on [this cute tumblr post](http://littlehappyphil.tumblr.com/post/119817999596/date-someone-who-will) about the kind of person one should date.

**Date someone who will...**

 

  * wake up at 4am just to listen to you talk about a bad dream you just had



At first Troye’s not sure what wakes him up, but then he squints over at Connor’s side of the bed and sees him sat up and bent over his own knees, curled up, hands in his own hair.

“Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay,” Troye says, voice raspy and heavy with sleep, while he pushes himself upright and shuffles over so he can half lean on, half hug Connor.

“I know, I know, I just... can’t make my heart stop racing,” Connor says, voice muffled by the way he’s hunched over himself.

Troye blinks heavily against the tiredness in his eyes and then manages to curl his arm more successfully around Connor, shuffling them both backwards to they can lean against the headboard of his bed. He pulls Connor closer into his side and runs his hand up and down over the skin just underneath the short sleeve of Connor’s t-shirt, waiting for him to collect himself a bit.

“Want to tell me about it?” he asks once Connor has relaxed into him a little bit.

Connor shrugs.

“It was just crap,” he says, trying to shrug it off.

Troye decides to wait him out. Pushing never really works well with Connor.

“My channel got deleted because of-- the video,” Connor starts and Troye barely manages to suppress a gasp, his eyes going wide where Connor can’t see them. It’s only been a couple weeks since Connor posted his coming out video, and Troye knows Connor hasn’t let go of all his reservations about coming out completely yet. Still, he didn’t think it’d haunt Connor’s nightmares.

“I got so upset, and I didn’t understand why, because you and Tyler and everyone were allowed to keep yours but they said it was different for me, and you all stopped talking to me and were really disappointed, and I couldn’t talk and just-” Connor goes on and then stops himself, twisting around so he can push his face against Troye’s chest.

Troye automatically wraps his arms around him and gently cards a hand through his hair. He should have something poetic and soothing to say, but Troye’s never good at soothing and poetic when he’s talking to people, so he goes for straightforward instead.

“Fuck, Connor, you know we’d never,” he says, and bends down to kiss the crown of Connor’s head. “We love you.”

Connor makes a slightly damp noise like he’s sniffling a bit maybe and Troye’s heart pulls tight.

“Of course I know that,” Connor says. “I also know that my teeth won’t just turn to breadcrumbs and fall out of my mouth and yet that’s what happened every time I tried to speak.”

There’s a bit of a laugh in his voice by the end, so Troye allows himself a small smile that Connor can’t see anyway.

“Sounds almost more terrifying than youtube being dicks, to be honest,” he says.

“I know, right? I don’t know what’s wrong with my head,” Connor agrees, sitting up a bit and putting his head on Troye’s shoulder instead.

Troye lets one of his arms fall down easily, keeping the other one wrapped around Connor by his side.

“There’s nothing wrong with your head,” he says. “Nightmares don’t have to make sense. Though I read once that teeth falling out in a dream means you’re scared of getting older?”

“D’you think that applies when I dreamed they turned to bread crumbs before they fell out?”

“I have no idea, ‘s your head,” Troye says, pulling teasingly at Connor’s earlobe.

Connor grins a little.

“Yeah,” he just says, and then, after a small silence, “What time is it anyway?”

“Too fucking early,” Troye says, without checking his phone.

“More sleep?” Connor suggests and Troye nods tiredly.

“Yes, please.”

They shuffle back down into the sheets and Troye makes sure to stay close to Connor. They’re not necessarily the snuggling type, but Troye likes feeling Connor’s presence in his bed and he knows Connor likes it too.

“Thanks,” Connor murmurs.

Troye reaches out a hand and blindly pats at whatever part of Connor he reaches - his shoulder, he thinks.

“Anytime.”

 

  * tease you for little things just to apologize six million times when you act upset



Connor’s leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, watching Troye fuss over his fringe. Honestly, Connor can’t see what’s wrong with it - or make out the miniscule corrections Troye seems so obsessed with.

“You’re so vain about your hair, oh my god,” he teases, smile on his face. “We’re late, you know. We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago. You look great.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Troye says, scowling at this mirror image. If he blushed more easily, Connor’s sure his cheeks would be a little flushed right now. He’s come to recognise that particular tone of his voice.

“It’s my security blanket so shush,” Troye says, pushing at Connor’s shoulder as he walks past him, grabbing his phone and wallet, stuffing them in his pockets.

Connor knows that, of course. That Troye puts on outfits and hairstyles like armor, and he never means to make Troye feel bad for that - not at all.

“No, oh god, I didn’t mean -- it’s cute,” he rushes to say, grabbing his own things and stumbling after Troye, who holds the hotel room door open for him.

“I’m so glad you can do that - make yourself feel better with your hair or whatever. It’s totally fine, I didn’t mean to criticise or anything, I was just teasing!” he explains, Troye’s brows still furrowed a little as he pushes the button to call for the elevator.

“Seriously, Troye, I didn’t mean to-- make you feel bad or anything,” he says, trying to catch a glimpse of Troye’s face when he turns away to push the button for the lobby once they’re inside the elevator. At this point he’s probably more flustered than Troye was earlier. That seems to be how it always goes between the two of them ---

Wait a second.

“You’re fucking with me,“ Connor says, leaning against the wall of the elevator and crossing his arms.

Troye looks up at him with a mischievous grin curling his lips. “Just a bit. You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

Connor feels his ears go a little red and rolls his eyes.

“You’re a very mean person, Mellet,” he says. “You should make that part of your goals for 2015. ‘Be nicer to Connor’.”

Troye grins at him and pinches his arm as he passes him to step out of the elevator.

 

  * be nervous to kiss you for the first time because they don’t want to fuck up



“Got it,” Troye says quietly and lowers the camera.

Connor turns around to smile at him, swinging his legs back and forth where they’re dangling off the little wooden pier they’ve come across.

“You want to head back yet?” he asks.

Troye shakes his head and sits down beside Connor, placing the camera behind himself carefully.

“It’s nice out here,” he says.

It is nice out here and he’s glad Connor asked him to help him film for this video idea he has. It gave him the perfect excuse to frame Connor as prettily as he knows how, and then stare at him for minutes at a time. But Troye’s not exactly looked his fill yet. Though to be honest he’s not sure he’s going to any time soon.

“Yeah,” Connor agrees, looking out across the water to the way the sun lights up the landscape on the other side.

Troye follows his gaze, thinking about how Connor said he sometimes feels like he sees the world just a little bit differently than all the people he knows, and tries to see what it might be that Connor’s seeing. It’s a little silly probably, and usually he’s glad to see the world the way he does it and compare notes with Connor, but sometimes he’d love to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of his first-hand. It’s a problem he’s sure everyone has at least sometimes.

He’s not sure how long they sit there, but at some point Connor’s hand covers his on the splintery wood and Troye doesn’t bother fighting down the happy smile that spreads over his face. They’ve been leading up to this for what sometimes feels like the entire past year.

Connor huffs a little laugh beside him, making Troye look over at him.

“What?” he asks.

Connor shrugs with a sheepish grin and puts his forehead on Troye’s shoulder.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” he murmurs.

“So why don’t you?” Troye asks, genuinely curious as well as teasing a little bit, hoping Connor will see it for the invitation it is.

“I’m not sure,” Connor says and laughs again. “It just makes me nervous that I’ll mess it up somehow.”

“You’ve kissed people before,” Troye points out, slightly amused. He thinks he knows where Connor’s coming from though.

Connor sits up and shrugs. “Yeah.”

They’re silent for a bit, and then Troye turns his hand over and wraps his fingers around Connor’s.

“It makes me nervous too,” he confesses.

“What? Why?” Connor asks. “It’s nothing new for you.”

“Yeah, but it’s never been... like this. It’s never felt so important,” Troye says.

Connor’s face smoothes out into something understanding and sweet, and he nods a little.

“Yeah,” he says.

Troye bites his lip against the nervous grin that’s trying to take over his face and shrugs a shoulder.

“It’s okay though. I don’t think we’ll mess up. Just... take whatever you need from me,” he says, letting his gaze fall to Connor’s lips before looking up at his eyes.

Connor exhales a little shakily, eyes bright.

Troye waits.

When Connor does lean in, Troye meets him halfway. The first touch of their lips is soft, sweet, warm. A little shy, but not hesitant. They’ve built up to it long enough that now that it’s happening Troye suddenly finds all his nerves swept away, replaced by a glowing warmth sitting happily in his chest.

Their lips smack a little wetly when Connor pulls back to move closer, lifting one hand up to Troye’s face before their lips reconnect. Troye thinks briefly that it should maybe not be this easy. Kissing Connor feels both new and wonderful, and has his belly alight with butterflies, but also like they’re just picking up where they left off - like it’s the latest in a series of kisses they’ve never actually had.

It’s easy to know when to open his lips to Connor’s, easy to meet his tongue with his own, easy to melt into the hand that’s cradling the back of his head. Maybe that’s just what it’s like when you know you’ve got nothing to hide from the person you’re kissing, because they’ve already accepted you for all you are and found you to be someone they want to kiss anyway. Troye really hopes that’s it - that all their kisses are going to be so easy.

By the time Connor pulls away for good, Troye feels a bit like his brain’s been wrapped in fairy floss.

“Thank you,” Connor says.

Troye can’t help the small chuckle that escapes him. He knows what Connor means, but it’s still not really a thing he ever expected to hear after kissing someone.

“Anytime,” he answers, winking at Connor for good measure.

Connor rolls his eyes, but they’re bright and happy, and he’s still smiling.

 

  * touch your butt



“You’ve got quite the adorable little booty there,” Connor says, slapping Troye’s butt and grinning to himself at Troye’s scandalised expression.

They’re spending an afternoon off in Sydney shopping and Troye has been trying on almost identical pairs of black jeans for the past twenty minutes. Connor needs to keep himself entertained somehow. Staring at Troye’s butt seemed as good an idea as any, really.

“Connor Franta,” Troye says, hand on his heart like his maiden constitution is genuinely offended by the touch or the comment, when really Connor can see the delight twinkling in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“I have absolutely no booty, and you know it,” Troye says, turning his back to Connor and wiggling his hips and tiny butt at Connor.

Connor laughs and shrugs at Troye over the mirror.

“I know. But I like your lack of booty.”

Troye rolls his eyes at him, but Connor catches the grin on his face as he ducks back into the changing cubicle.

 

  * watch your favorite movies with you even if they don’t like them



“I just don’t really, like, get it,” Connor says, squinting at the TV.

“Get what?” Troye asks, turning his face towards him a little bit but still clearly focussed on the film they’re watching.

“The entire thing they’ve got going,” Connor says, waving his hands about for emphasis. He really can’t even pinpoint what it is about the film that bores him. He suspects it’s the same thing that Troye likes about it. That’s okay though. They don’t have to like all the same things, right?

“I mean I get the story and I get that it looks interesting, I just don’t really get why they... went for that,” he says.

Troye’s silent for a moment while Andrew Garfield tries to woo Lily Cole.

“We don’t have to watch it,” Troye says, now turned towards Connor, looking a little like he’s worried he’s boring Connor. Connor hesitates for a moment, but then smiles and shakes his head. He’s sure they’ll find something that Connor’s into that Troye doesn’t care for at some point.

“Nah, it’s okay,” he says. “I mean Andrew Garfield’s pretty hot.”

Troye’s face does that thing it always does when Connor says something like it, like he’s not sure whether to be happy and proud that Connor’s comfortable enough to say things like that and mean them, or offended that Connor’s talking about people-that-are-not-Troye’s hotness. Eventually he shrugs.

“True.”

 

  * let you give them too much information and just listen to you talk for hours



Troye’s been bouncing off the walls ever since he got back from his recording session and Connor can’t pretend he’s not only half listening to him anymore at this point. He’s more focussed on not chopping off his fingers while making dinner, if he’s entirely honest.

“It’s just so interesting, the way the entire feel of a song changes with all these little tweaks, you know?” Troye says and Connor makes an absent-minded “yeah” sound.

Troye doesn’t seem to notice. He just keeps on talking.

“And I always feel so silly talking production, ‘cause, like, what do I know, right? I mean it’s not like I had super much to do with the production of the EP, I mostly just watched what the actual professionals were doing, but I think maybe I did learn a bit doing that? I mean obviously I’m not on their level or anything, but I think I’m getting better at it, even if I said I wanted percussion that sounds like maltesers feel and -- I’m rambling. Sorry,” he cuts himself off with a laugh suddenly.

Connor dumps the chopped bell pepper into the sizzling pan and smiles over at Troye. “You literally listened to me go on about coffee blends for twenty minutes this morning. We cool.”

Troye smiles at him brightly and Connor takes a moment to step over to where he’s sitting on the counter - it doesn’t matter how many times Connor asks him not to, probably especially when Connor always does it with a fond eyeroll, he sits there anyway - and steals a quick kiss. When he steps back over to the pan, the smile has doubled over onto his own lips as well.

Troye watches him quietly for a moment or two and then falls right back into a rambling account of his afternoon at the studio like he never stopped in the first place.

Connor adores him so much.

 

  * claim to not know what you’re talking about just so they can watch as you struggle to explain it just to tell you they already know and just think you’re adorable



“I mean, I know it’s all a bit hipster-with-an-iPhone-instagram like and all, but I just... like doing that,” Connor says, turning said iPhone over and over in his hands while he watches Troye take his own photo.

Troye makes an encouraging noise, waiting for Connor to go on. He knows Connor gets most self-conscious about his photography, probably because he loves it so much and is so protective of it. He’s so enthusiastic about it and it’s honestly one of the most adorable things Troye can think of.

Troye loves Connor’s instagram account as well, honestly. He’d probably follow it even if he had absolutely no other interest in Connor. As it is it just so happens that Troye has a lot of interests when it comes to cute hipster-with-an-iPhone boys. Well. When it comes to Connor, at least.

“Like, I just like taking a moment and freezing it, you know,” Connor goes on.

Troye nods, and smiles at him when he straightens back up from taking his own photo. Connor must have noticed that he’s been changing the aesthetic of his own instagram account as well. It’s a bit tiresome to keep up with, but he wanted to try - to look at the world differently. Not the way Connor does, but something like it maybe.

“And I know it’s all filters and not real and blablabla but I like that. Changing the way it’s been recorded by the camera and making it what I want to remember,” Connor says, finally shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“Right,” Troye says, trying to keep his smile small so as not to give away just how much he enjoys this rant of Connor’s every single time he hears it. At this point he feels like he might be able to explain Connor’s feelings about photography even better than Connor can, but he never tires of hearing it.

“It just sort of... it feels like I’m stealing a bit of the world to keep for myself. Like I got away with something, sort of. Like sneaking sweets before dinner when you’re a kid or something,” Connor says and looks imploringly at Troye, like this whole spiel has been about getting Troye to understand something. Maybe he really hasn’t figured out yet that Troye can recite the cookie jar speech in his sleep.

Troye smiles brightly. ”I love hearing you talk about this.”

 

  * share your love for cats



Connor can’t help the strangled noise that escapes him at the pretty kitten staring up at him from his tumblr dash. There’s really no holding him accountable when cats are involved. He can’t even reblog it yet, just stares at the pretty red and brown fur.

“The fuck was that?” Troye asks, laughter in his voice.

Connor startles a bit and looks up from his laptop screen to where Troye’s looking at him in bewilderment with his own laptop in front of him seemingly forgotten for the moment. Connor smiles sheepishly, his shoulders brushing against the backrest of the couch as he shrugs.

“There’s a really cute kitten on my tumblr dash?” he says, though it comes out like a question.

Troye blinks at him for a moment before setting his laptop to the side and crawling over the couch so he can have a look himself.

Connor obligingly turns to the laptop to the side, so Troye can get a better view.

“I mean, look at this, what the fuck, Troye,” he says.

Troye takes a moment to study it, tilting his head to the side.

“Fucking hell, that’s adorable,” he says finally. “Reblog that so I can reblog it from you.”

 

  * offer to buy you a book that you absolutely love, and insist when you tell them no



Troye practically flounces past the coffee shop in the front of the bookshop, weaving past aisles and displays, looking for the by now more than familiar white cover with the triangular slice of sky. Connor’s laughing a bit as he follows after him. Having seen his own EP on actual shelves in actual stores, Troye thinks he can maybe understand how Connor feels a little bit. It’s making him extra giddy, like some sort of feedback loop.

“You’re gonna walk past it at this pace,” Connor calls out jokingly.

“Nope,” Troye says, keeping his eyes trained on the shelves all around and changing direction abruptly when he spies an entire display table dedicated to A Work In Progress. He plucks one from the table with a flourish and whirls around to grin brightly at Connor, holding the book close to his chest.

“I’m buying this,” he announces.

Connor lets out a surprised laugh, like he didn’t know that’s what they were here for, and then reaches out to take the book from him.

“I’m buying it for you then,” he says.

Troye takes the book back. “No. I want to buy it myself.”

“And I want to give it to you. You wouldn’t take any of the author copies I got.”

“Because I wanted to buy it myself,” Troye explains slowly, holding the book to his chest protectively.

“Yes, well, so do I, but I’m not going to buy it for myself, am I? So let me buy it for my boyfriend,” Connor says, using the moment of surprise that slackens all of Troye’s limbs to pluck the book out of his arms and turn around to strut towards the register.

Troye can’t help but stare after him a bit helplessly for one, two far too heavy heartbeats. It’s not that Troye didn’t know that’s what they are - boyfriends. It’s what he calls Connor in his head and it’s what he’s heard Connor call him to his family. Connor’s just never said it to his face quite that casually - while they were arguing about Connor’s book right next to a display of his book at that. Out in public. Where anyone could have heard ,and no one could have mistaken who Connor was, if they’d heard what they both said.

He can’t quite tamp down the grin and by the time Troye reaches Connor, he’s already putting his wallet back into his pocket.

“Can I have my book now, please?” Troye asks, instead of trying to voice any of the feelings bubbling in his chest.

“Just a second,” Connor says with a grin and then walks up to the counter of the coffee shop.

Troye rolls his eyes, but instead of ordering a coffee, Connor asks for a pen and flips the book open, scribbling something quickly. He shoots the girl behind the counter a smile before coming back over to Troye and handing him the book with a wide grin.

“Here you go. Signed by the author and everything,” he says.

“Why thank you,” Troye grins, though he knows it can’t have been only his signature Connor put into the book. He was scribbling too long for it to be that.

He’s not sure he can take whatever else it is that Connor wrote on top of the giddiness he’s already feeling and tries to curb his curiosity for a few moments, falling in step with Connor as they leave the shop. They amble their way back to Connor’s car, but Troye doesn’t make it far before he succumbs and opens the book, flipping through the first few pages until he catches the ink on the title page.

_Even if I wrote a second book I couldn’t find enough words to say how much you mean to me - Love, C_

Yep. No. Troye’s not going to be able to hold this all inside.

Connor’s smiling to himself next to him, like he knows that Troye’s feelings are threatening to bubble out of him like a warm bottle of champagne and Troye is just -- not having it.

When they reach Connor’s car in the car park, he pushes Connor in between the two SUVs right next to Connor’s slightly smaller car, pulling the beanie down over his own hair more firmly, and Connor’s hood up around his face, before backing him against the side of one of the cars and pressing in to kiss him. He brings up his arms to cage Connor in and obstruct their faces with the book he’s still holding, half expecting Connor to push him away. Instead Connor melts into the touch, grabs Troye’s hips and pulls him closer even, opening his mouth to Troye’s tongue.

Troye can’t quite put words to the fizzy champagne feeling yet, though he knows what it is. He’s not there yet, and he doesn’t think Connor is either. For now, this is enough.

 

  * make you laugh even if it’s 2:30am and you’re laying in bed crying because you sat there and over thought



Troye takes a shuddery breath next to him and Connor reaches over for the box of tissues, offering it to Troye. It takes a few moments of breathing and Troye wiping at his eyes before he’s composed himself again, but Connor waits it out. Troye doesn’t like being crowded when he’s crying, so Connor sits there on the bed next to him, looking down at where Troye’s spread out on his back, eyes wet and hair mussed up, lit up only by the light that spills in through the windows of Connor’s bedroom, and holds his tongue.

“Thanks,” Troye mumbles, balling up the tissue in his hand and looking decidedly not at Connor.

“Anytime,” he says softly.

Troye rubs at his cheeks with fingers that Connor knows go cold when he cries, probably trying to get rid of the red splashed on them. He gets like that sometimes. Overthinks and overworries and makes himself cry with just the messy inside of his head. It’s probably also a little bit to do with the fact that it’s half past two in the morning.

“Just write it down, maybe,” he suggests quietly. “Not perfectly or anything, but get it out. When I’m not there to talk to, I mean.”

Troye looks over at him then, gaze open like he’s either too tired to bother putting his walls back up, or welcomes Connor’s words. Connor hopes it’s the latter.

“Otherwise it’ll just eat its way through your head. Like the Very Hungry Caterpillar. Troye’s self-confidence on Monday, a chunk of his pretty hair on Tuesday, and so on,” Connor says, smiling a little. Troye’s face does something that might be a smile if he invested a bit more energy in it.

“You need to feed it the right things, and maybe at the end of it it’ll come out a butterfly and you won’t mind the things it ate,” Connor goes on, and then scrunches his face up. Did that...? That was an inconsistent metaphor wasn’t it? It is two-thirty in the a.m. “Er. That made sense in my head. “

Troye giggles tiredly. ”It did in mine too.”

Connor leans down to press a kiss to Troye’s brow.

“Thanks,” Troye repeats, more calm now than exhausted.

“Anytime.”

 

  * talk about animals with you for hours



“Did you know there’s a frog that has a see-through belly?” Connor asks, out of the blue.

Troye looks up from typing out a response to his manager Emma, and blinks at Connor.

“A see-through belly?”

“Yeah, look,” Connor says and turns his laptop around so Troye can see a photo of a small frog with its organs on display through its skin.

“What the fuck, man. That’s absurd,” he says. How does evolution come up with these things? “You sure that’s not photoshop?”

“No, they’re a real thing,” Connor says, grinning.

“Huh,” Troye says and then turns back to his email, reading over the last line to remember what he’d meant to type.

“Did you know flamingoes can only eat when their heads are upside down?” he asks distractedly.

“What? That’s not true. That makes no sense,” Connor says.

Troye shrugs. “Google it.”

Connor googles it.

“Animals, man. So weird,” Connor says after a bit of clicking of keys and then silence. Troye grins to himself.

“So cool though.”

 

  * tell you that they think you’re cute when you get angry at a video game



“I’ve never seen you so into a video game before!” Connor laughs, poking Troye’s side. They had to park a little further away today, but the nights aren’t too chilly anymore and Connor’s enjoying the fresh air on their short little stroll.

Troye bats his hand away.

“It’s Tyler. He just... urgh. He gets me so riled up,” Troye says, scowl still heavy on his face.

“It’s just Mario Kart though,” Connor says, still amused. Usually he’s the one getting the most competitive over video games, when they do play them. Probably a leftover from living in the O2L house for so long, Connor thinks. But tonight Tyler and Troye were vicious in their racing.

Troye heaves a heavy sigh, like he’s shrugging the world off his shoulders, and then lets out a little giggle.

“I got a bit carried away...” he admits sheepishly and playfully bumps his shoulder into Connor’s. Connor bumps back.

“It was really adorable. I don’t know why. Your little face was all scrunched up and just... you’re adorable,” he says.

Troye lifts an eyebrow, his lips curled in amusement, and then shrugs it off. “Thanks. I think.”

 

  * laugh with you



Troye’s sides are genuinely, honestly aching. He wasn’t even aware he could feel that much pain in his cheeks, either. At least not without anyone punching him in the face. Half his face is wet from his tears and his eyes are burning from whatever he didn’t wash off his hands before he’d tried to wipe the tears away earlier.

Connor’s not faring much better next to him, clutching his stomach and still giggling, hair static-y from rolling around on the duvet so much.

“Why are we even laughing anymore?” Connor asks, voice vibrating with said laughter.

Troye shakes his head helplessly, feeling his own laughter sit in his chest. “I have no idea.”

There was something about a sea pig in the beginning, something Connor wanted to show him on youtube, but it devolved into reminiscing about their favourite memes and videos, and led to them here - curled up on Connor’s bed and clutching their aching bellies, shaking with laughter.

To be honest, it’s not the worst place to be.

 

  * reassure you that they care and will always be there for you



Connor needs to leave for the airport in thirty minutes at the latest, but Troye’s looking so downtrodden that for a wild second he considers missing his flight if he has to.

“It’s literally not even a week. I’ll be back before you know it,” he says, bringing up his hands to cradle Troye’s face in them, thumbs brushing over his cheeks.

Troye shrugs sheepishly at him.

“I know,” he says. “I’ll be alright. I’m just being silly.”

“You’ve got things to do. You’ll hardly notice I’m not around,” Connor says. Studio time always distracts Troye like nothing else.

“I know,” Troye repeats. “I’m just -- I just don’t like how often we say goodbye.”

He looks at Connor with slightly glassy eyes and Connor feels a wave of emotion and, possibly, tears well up inside him. He swallows hard against both and draws Troye closer, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. Troye hugs him back tightly.

“I know. I don’t like it either. Just think about how often we get to say hello in return,” Connor murmurs into Troye’s shoulder, trying for positivity. He doesn’t want to leave here feeling like he shouldn’t have. Like Troye needed him to stay.

“You’re so fucking cheesy,” Troye says, but Connor can hear the strength returning to his voice and allows himself a smile.

“Well, I really fucking like you,” he says, pulling back to look Troye in the face.

“I really fucking like you too,” Troye says, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Connor’s.

Connor lets his hands follow the line of Troye’s arms, tangling their fingers together and letting their linked hands hang between them while he soaks up Troye’s presence, like he can keep a bit of it for himself when he leaves.

“It’ll still be weird going back to the air b’n’b place, though. How will your tree survive?” Troye says, trying for a joke.

Connor feels his ears run hot and his heart beat in his throat. He was going to-- but then he thought ‘too soon’-- but should he--?

“Yeah. Um,” he tries to say and pulls back, blinking his eyes open slowly.

Troye makes a questioning noise in his throat.

Connor bites his lip and rakes one hand through his hair, messing up his quiff before sweeping it back into place. His other hand is going clammy in Troye’s.

“I know you have things to do and that’s why you got your own place and all,” he starts out, Troye’s focus on him sharpening as if he knows where he’s going with this. “But... if you wanted... you could still stay here.”

“Here?” Troye repeats.

Connor nods. “I, um. Got you a key.”

“You got me a key?”

Connor can’t figure out if Troye’s just echoing him because he wasn’t expecting it or because he’s looking for words to turn Connor’s offer down. He licks his lips and pushes through the nerves in his belly.

“Yeah, I just... don’t like saying goodbye so much either, and I figure we shouldn’t do it more than we absolutely have to,” he says.

Troye blinks at him for a moment, before a smile dawns brightly on his face.

“You beautiful human being,” he says, stepping into Connor’s personal bubble, and pressing their lips together in a sweet, gentle kiss. Connor figures that means he’s happy about the suggestion, and kisses him back with a smile.

 

  * stay up until you fall asleep just because they want to talk to you



Troye’s been waiting for Connor’s call since around noon, but it’s around three that his skype finally rings. He picks up the video call and shuts down the editing software, not wanting to risk the call dropping because his laptop decides both programs at the same time are too much to handle.

“Hey, Troye-boy,” Connor says, obviously already in bed. He looks completely exhausted, if Troye’s being honest, but there’s also a sweet smile on his face that Troye’s been waiting to see all day, so he’s not about to lecture Connor on proper sleeping habits. It’d be like the pot calling the kettle black anyway.

“Hi, Con-con,” Troye trills back, laughing when Connor rolls his eyes.

“Tell me about your day,” Connor asks, eyes tired but trained on the screen, so Troye does.

He tells him about the truly magnificent scrambled eggs he made that morning - “I saw those on instagram” - and the successful writing session he had earlier. Tells him about lunch with Halsey-Ashley and that maybe they’ll be able to work on something together at some point, and how he’s just been sat at home editing since then, waiting for Connor’s call.

“Home?” Connor asks sleepily, eyes barely open but obviously still able to recognise the familiar backdrop of his own office.

Troye blushes a bit.

“Yeah.”

Connor hums and closes his eyes, snuggling into the pillow.

“I like that,” he mumbles - or at least that’s what Troye thinks he mumbles. He waits for Connor to repeat himself or say something else, but after a minute Connor still hasn’t said anything.

“Connor?” Troye asks. Connor doesn’t answer.

Troye grins to himself. The light’s still on in Connor’s hotel room, and the position he curled himself up to be able to look at his laptop screen doesn’t look entirely comfortable, but at least he seems to have changed into sleep clothes.

“... goodnight,” he says, even if Connor’s already asleep, and gets up to get one of his journals. He decides to leave the call open. Might as well write some sappy lyrics while he feels like this.

 

  * Most importantly, date someone who makes you happy.



Connor debates getting an espresso the entire way from the plane to the taxi stand outside. He had only his carry-on this time, so at least he didn’t have to wait for baggage claim, and he had a little nap for four hours on the plane, but he didn’t want to sleep too much, knowing it’d only be early evening when he arrived. It’s just that flying always leaves him so exhausted and he’s not sure how he’s going to power through until a reasonable time to get to bed without caffeine. On the other hand, he’s not sure he is going to go to bed at a reasonable time if he does have a coffee.

In the end he makes it to the taxi stand before he comes to a decision, so he figures he might as well just go home. He’s more eager to see Troye than to have a cup of coffee at any rate.

He dozes a bit on the drive to his apartment, so it takes him a moment to get what’s happening when he steps through the door to the light muted, candles lit, and Troye stood in the kitchen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Welcome home,” Troye says.

Connor lets go of his carry on trolley, taking a few steps to drop his jacket onto the sofa.

“You... you made dinner?” he asks. It’s a bit of a superfluous question, given that the table’s set, the apartment smells amazing, and it’s dinner time.

Troye fidgets a little, pulling at the hem of his sweatshirt. He looks so lovely with his curly hair, wide sweatshirt, skinny jeans and bare feet - stood right there in Connor’s kitchen - that Connor’s not sure what to do with himself for a moment.

“Yeah, I... “ Troye tries to say and makes a sprawling gesture towards the table before cringing. “Shit, is that too domestic? I know we don’t, like, actually live together I just thought it’d be nice and--”

“It is nice,” Connor interrupts. “It’s super nice. I never use the candles by myself.”

It’s really not about the candles. It’s knowing that Troye stayed here while Connor flew to London, that sometimes Troye says ‘home’ and means LA; means Connor’s apartment.

“Yeah?” Troye asks, fiddling with the hem of his sweater again, but smiling shyly.

“Yeah,” Connor says, and turns to look at the table properly, the careful way Troye set it. He’s itching to take a picture of it, actually, but first ...

“Come here,” he says, turning back to Troye and opening his arms. “I really missed you. Let me kiss you.”

“The food’ll get cold,” Troye protests, but comes easily, letting Connor run his fingers through his soft, curling hair.

“It’ll be fine. I just want to say ‘hi’ properly,” Connor says, trailing his hands down from Troye’s head so his wrists hang off of Troye’s shoulders.

“Properly?” Troye teases, leaning forward and brushing his nose against Connor’s.

Connor smiles and brushes their lips together instead.

“Yeah,” he says.

Troye hums his agreement and kisses him properly then, languid lips and tongue, sweet, soft pecks and deep, searching kisses that feel like promises.

“Welcome home,” Troye repeats when he pulls away, pecking Connor’s lips a final time.

“It’s good to be home.”

 

**The End**


End file.
